


My Sorrow Cannot Bring Your Return

by arihime



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes
Genre: Angst, Book 2 Chapter 8, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 14:35:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18758401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arihime/pseuds/arihime
Summary: "It's not a cold, is it, Fjorm?"





	My Sorrow Cannot Bring Your Return

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of me finishing my first year of grad school, have some angst with a hint of Fjorm/Kiran.

“It’s not a cold, is it, Fjorm?”

Kiran’s voice is flat, eyes hard and determined.

Fjorm sputters for a moment. “What?”

“Your cough; it’s not just a cold.” Kiran stares out at the tundra beyond them, then at Breidablik clipped to her belt.

“The Rite of Frost did something to you, didn’t it?”

“Oh, Kiran,” Fjorm sighs. “That’s not—”

“Don’t try to lie!” The words whip through the air like the winter wind. “Please, I heard you. ‘As an offering, I bring you my flesh,’ you said. What else could that mean, if not. . .”

“Oh, Kiran,” Fjorm sighs again, reaching for her. 

Kiran steps back. For all that she projects confidence in battle, she looks horribly frail now, and Fjorm hates to be the cause of that look on someone she owes so much.

“You knew what would happen, and you asked me to loan you Breidablik anyway,” Kiran says. “Why?”

That at least is a simple answer. “I had to. It’s the only way to defeat Surtr.”

“But at the cost of your life? After what happened to your sister?”

Fjorm flinches. She’s tried to make herself cold to the memory of what happened to Gunnthra for the sake of the mission, but the pain is still raw. She waits until she knows her voice will not waver before answering.

“It’s because of Gunnthra that I’m doing this.” What is the saying Kiran taught her? Ah yes: revenge is a dish best served cold, and there is nothing colder than the frost of Nifl.

Kiran sniffs, and Fjorm suddenly realizes that there are tears in her eyes. She hastily wipes them away before Fjorm can react.

“I won’t be able to bring you back when this is done, will I? Because Breidablik was involved?”

Fjorm nods. She’d felt the magic of Breidablik’s contract morph around her when the Rite of Frost was complete, settling into something colder and much less forgiving.

“I hate this,” Kiran cries. “I’m supposed to be able to bring heroes back if I screw up. What good am I if I can’t even do that?”

Fjorm reaches forward again, catching Kiran’s hand in her own and holding it tight.

“This isn’t your fault.”

Kiran shakes her head.

“Kiran, listen to me. It isn’t. It was my own choice to make. And what happened to Gunnthra isn’t your fault either.”

“But I—”

“No.” The only one to blame for this, for all of this, is Surtr.

Kiran shakes her head again, but she doesn’t resist when Fjorm pulls her forward into a hug. She sobs against Fjorm’s chest, quiet, broken sounds that hurt Fjorm more than any fire. She holds Kiran, tucking her body away from the wind, until her sobs quiet, and she pulls away from Fjorm on her own.

“We should get back to the others,” Fjorm says, wiping a stray tear from Kiran’s cheek. “They’ll be worried if you’re gone for too long.”

“They always worry,” Kiran grumbles. She scrubs her hands over her face, trying to get rid of any lingering tear tracks. After a moment, she says, “You don’t want me to tell them, do you?”

“No.” It would only cause more heartache if they knew. Fjorm doesn’t think she could bear Alfonse and Sharena and Anna’s sorrows, in addition to Kiran’s.

“Alright,” Kiran says. “Alright, I won’t tell them. But, Fjorm—”

“I know.” If her cough gets worse, she will eventually have to tell them herself. “We’ll cross that hurdle when it comes.”


End file.
